Henry Allen Venture's Fantastically Faggy Folicles
by Chip-Nips
Summary: Doc thinks it's high time that Hank got a haircut. Hank disagrees and so does somebody else.
1. Intro

"You know it's not practical, Hank. Any one of those goons that seem to like to invade the compound, and step all over my kentucky bluegrass while they're at it, could just tear it right out of your follicles. Not to mention, you look like a sissy."

"You're one to talk, Pop. You don't have any! Anyways, what about Brock? He has long hair and he was our bodyguard!"

"First of all, I do have hair. I just shave the sides for fashion purposes, Smartypants. Secondly, Brock doesn't have to worry about men grabbing his hair because he's gone through years of training. Plus, it suits him. It makes him look like John Rambo with a perm… Well, a good perm… It just makes you look like some weird trucker woman who likes to go spelunking down at the strip clubs off the freeway. The ones where girls get in free and the dancers 'just want to have a good time'."

Hank fiddled with a lock of his blonde mop and glared up at his father over his cereal bowl.

"Well, it's my head and I can grow it out if I want to. You aren't the boss of my head, Pop."

"I am too the boss of your head and I'm the boss of your keister as well. Now I want that keister to get out of this kitchen and go get itself a haircut. I don't want you coming back with one of those 'fashion' cuts either. If I see you with some sort of fancy 'flock of seagulls' type business I'll just boot up H.E.L. 's 'barber' function, and we all know how that worked out last time."

Hank swallowed the lump in his throat. How could he forget being shaved almost bald on one side of his head and having the other half covered in razor scratches and band-aids for a week.

Hank lifted his bowl and chugged down the last of the milk and soggy stale 'Wheatie-Os' that were engorging themselves on the bottom; letting the white liquid dribble out the corners of his mouth in what he thought to be a 'devil-may-care' fashion.

"If you care about my hair so much, why don't you just marry it?" Hank snapped and stormed out the door.

"People don't marry somebody's hair unless they are very sick in the head, boy!" Doc called after his unruly son, "And don't think of coming back to this compound without a neat and tidy display on top of that potato of yours you call a head!


	2. Pleasing My Women

Dermott Fictel leaned against his mom's trailer as he took a drag on his cigarette. It had already been a tough morning of fighting ninjas and beating up werewolves and the young man deserved a break. Not really. Dermott had just rolled out of bed at 10:30 and rubbed one out before making himself a pop-tart and throwing pebbles at stray cats. But hey, those cats were totally up to something. You should've seen their claws; like fucking tigers, man. They had it coming.

Over the horizon, his squinty eyes could make out the shape of a person shuffling towards the trailer park.

"Hey, Dermott!" Hank called out as he approached his best friend's home.

"What's up, dickwad?" Dermott gave Hank an 'affectionate glare'. "Sorry I didn't call you. I was too busy working on my badass jujitsu skills. I can't stop practicing when I get in the 'zone', ya know?"

The larger boy casually blew out a puff of air to clear his vision of this greasy bangs.

"Not much," said Hank as he emulated Dermott's casual stance and leaned against the trailer next to him. "My stupid dad was giving me crap again."

Dermott fished out his pack of Marlboro reds and brandished it at Hank who, although he didn't smoke, took one and let it dangle unlit from his mouth. Dermott knew that Hank didn't smoke but gave his friend the satisfaction of at least looking like he sort of did. It made Hank feel like a cowboy and who was Dermott to deny his buddy-boy that small pleasure?

"What'd that jerk-off even do?" Dermott grunted in response to Hank's complaint.

Hank ran his fingers through the blonde mop that grew from his scalp down to the nape of his neck.

"He says my hair's too long. That it isn't practical and junk. He wants me to cut it off, but I'm not gonna." Hank pretended to take a drag on the cigarette and glanced over at Dermott.

"Psh, yeah," Dermott replied. "Unless you could get yourself a sweet new haircut, like a fuckin' mohawk or some crap."

He finished off the last of his cigarette and tossed it to the ground. Hank's eyes followed it as the long ash that Dermott had built up on the end cracked on the dusty dirt. He looked up at the taller boy confusedly.

"I thought you said you always put your smokes out on your tongue?"

Dermott's composure broke for a split second and he paused.

He shook off the comment and scoffed, "Well, yeah, but I'm trying to let my burn scars heal so I can eat tons of pussy later." He crossed his arms. "You know how I always fuckin' please my women."

Hank's face turned red. Dermott just talked about putting his tongue in a no-no place. He coughed and said, with his voice cracking, "Uh-yeah! I love pppussy." The word sounded so strange coming out of his own mouth. He made an awkward hip-thrusting motion and laughed nervously.

To be entirely truthful, Hank was still a virgin. He had only seen the coveted 'boobies' once before and that was when he peeked in on Brock with one his lady friends. To imagine what it was like to put his PENIS in a woman, let alone his mouth on one was baffling and sort of uncomfortable. Of course he'd LOVE to touch a woman and have actual real serious sex with one, but that seemed like something that would happen a little farther down the road. Hank definitely had those 'teenage urges' but he had heard too many horror stories from his pop and twin brother to try any of that 'heavy petting' business. He didn't really feel like being face to face with something people seemed to think smelled like a fish.

Hank shook off these unwanted thoughts and decided to backtrack to the previous conversation.

"Well, what should I do, dude? Pop says he won't let me back onto the compound unless I get a haircut." Hank's brow furrowed in distress.

Dermott stood in silence for a moment and then said quietly, "I could just do it…"

Hank's ears perked up. "Huh?"

Dermott turned his face away from his smaller friend. "I mean, I could just freakin' cut your hair. That way it would still look badass and you wouldn't have to waste any cash and shit."

Hank was hesitant.

"Do you know how to cut hair, dude?"

"Psh. I cut my own hair. Plus, I've cut my sister's hair loads of times." Dermott shook his greasy locks to show off his supposed handiwork.

In truth, the large boy had never cut a hair on anybody's head let alone his own. That isn't to say that he wasn't willing to try. I mean, how hard could it be? He made a crap-load of collages in elementary school, how different is cutting paper from cutting hair?

"Just trust me, bro. You're gonna look awesome.


End file.
